


Hotel California  Part 1: To Serve

by carolroi (CarolROI)



Series: Hotel California [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, Episode Related, F/M, S/M, b/d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolROI/pseuds/carolroi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events depicted in "The Sentinel By Blair Sandburg", Blair leaves Cascade to find himself again. Seeking out an old friend for help with penance for his perceived sins, Blair finds sanctuary in the Hotel California.</p><p>Blair arrives at the Hotel California.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hotel California  Part 1: To Serve

**Author's Note:**

> When I started this experiment in progress, I challenged myself to write the hottest, steamiest erotica I could think of. I had also been reading a good deal of erotica written by men. Men write sex tales differently than women do. They're more interested in the mechanics and the getting off than the emotional element (though I've included that in this story). To challenge myself even further, this is written in Blair's point of view, as a man (or as close as I can get) would write it. Somewhere in there, a plot happened amid the PWP sex. I will also warn that this is unfinished, but I'm not sure that really matters, if all you're after is intense, indepth BDSM erotica. I'll be posting parts as I get them written.  
> This story contains scenes of safe, sane and consensual B/D and S/M. It also has pairings of Blair/F, Blair/M and Blair/F/M. Enemas and women topping men are also found within. If these are not your things, click the back button now.
> 
> * * *

Getting out of the big rig, I drop to the ground. I haven't hitchhiked in years, but the Volvo's long gone, sold to make a slight dent in my debts. "Thanks for the ride, man," I say to the driver as he hands my duffel down to me. Nodding, he shuts the door, and with a chuff of air brakes releasing, he drives into the damp night. Picking up my bag, I turn away from the road, staring up the winding driveway. When I left here almost five years ago, I never thought I'd return. Now I feel like this place is my last refuge. 

On the surface, it looks like not much has changed. The "Hotel California" sign Julia made after a long night of too many margaritas and too much 70's rock still hangs from the gatepost. I can only hope other things are still the same. 

It takes me about ten minutes to hike from the road to the house. Even in the darkness, the stars hidden by clouds, the beauty of the place strikes me. It's on the outskirts of Seattle, in the mountains surrounded by tall pines. The air is crisp, and clean and damp, and I begin to believe I'll find the peace I'm looking for here. I've already tried spending some time with Brother Marcus at the monastery. I found plenty of solitude and time for reflection there, two things that only made me more aware of my guilt; aware of how I've failed at everything. I couldn't stay, couldn't even begin to explain to the Brothers what I'd done, and I knew no amount of prayer to any god would wash away my sins. 

Ducking under the overhang above the front door, I press the bell. It takes a few minutes, but the porch light comes on, and the door opens. The tall, blond man who opens it stares at me for a few seconds, then says, "Blair Sandburg?" 

My mouth forms the approximation of a smile. "Long time, no see, Patrick. Is she here?" 

He frowns, his lips thinning into a tight line. "Yes. She's with a client. Why do you want to see her?" 

The words stick in my throat, and I swallow nervously. Finally I push them out as a hoarse whisper, the phrase I know will always allow me entrance here, "I...I'm here to serve." 

Patrick's eyes widen slightly, then he nods and steps back, allowing me to enter. "This way." 

I follow him down the hallway, noting the changes. The place has been redecorated in black and white, the furniture sleek and modern. The theme continues to Patrick's attire. He's dressed in black leather pants and a leather vest. He seems to have ascended up the ranks in the household, but he still wears a collar. I wonder what happened to Keith, Julia's old apprentice. 

He stops in front of an open door. "Wait in here. I'll tell her you're here." He leaves. 

I enter the room. The dark and light theme is repeated here, the furniture sparse. A white armchair sits next to a black painted block that serves as an end table. A black lamp rests atop the table, its light reflecting from the white walls. I set my duffel on the floor, feeling inadequate, knowing I'm unprepared. Once I made up my mind to come here, I left the monastery and started hitching rides, traveling almost 24 hours straight. I was afraid if I stopped to clean up that I would change my mind. 

I can still back out, I tell myself, but now that I'm here, I feel relief for the first time in weeks. Julia will know what I need. But first, I have to make myself presentable. I take off my jacket, hanging it on a coat rack just inside the door. Shoes are next, lined up along the wall beside the coat rack. Socks are removed, tucked inside each other, and put in the duffel. Off comes the flannel over-shirt, then my blue tee. Wallet, keys, coins are emptied from my pockets and join my shirts in my bag. Belt is removed, rolled and put away. My breath catches in my chest as I unfasten the button of my jeans and slide the zipper down. Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I feel myself beginning to harden as I push my pants and boxers down to my ankles. I fold them neatly and pack them away, too. 

Now naked, I reach inside the pocket of my jacket and withdraw the item I've kept there on my journey to this place. Whenever I doubted my decision to come here, I would touch it, letting the intense memories it brought assure me I was doing the right thing. Taking the soft strip of leather out, I finger the buckle, and the nicked and scratched metal of the rings. Breathing deeply, I wind the collar around my neck, pushing the tongue through the clasp and tightening it. 

The feel of cowhide against my throat brings a rush of adrenaline that goes straight to my groin, and my cock leaps to full, stiff attention. Ignoring the ache, I walk to the middle of the room, and drop to my knees in front of the white chair. I place my hands behind my back, right hand grasping left wrist. Bending forward at the waist, I lower my forehead to the floor, "assuming the position". I will stay this way until my Mistress releases me. 

As I wait, I think back on the months I spent at the Hotel California five, almost six years ago. I was midway through my Masters studies at Washington State University, when I'd been informed by my thesis advisor that I didn't have enough hard data to make a paper on Sentinels viable. She'd been right. I needed a much broader sampling of the population, and more laboratory test results before I would have a paper that would stand up to committee. It would be a big help to have a real live Sentinel as well, but I hadn't found one yet in five years of searching, and I was becoming unhealthily obsessed with discovering one. 

Taking her advice, I'd asked her for ideas for an alternative paper, and one of the suggestions she gave me was on sexual subcultures and their role in society. I guess she thought I was open-minded enough to tackle it objectively. She'd given me some pamphlets and some web addresses and sent me on my way. 

Curious, I'd checked some of the subcultures out and discovered there was a bondage group on campus. I attended a meeting, explained why I was there, and asked for help researching the paper, promising anonymity in return. Julia came up to me afterwards, and offered to help. She was a grad student as well, working on a Doctorate in psychology. She knew which books I absolutely had to read, who had done other research in the same area, and best of all, she took me to the clubs and introduced me to her friends. I soon had enough information for a dozen papers. The only thing I lacked was understanding. What drove people to this underground life, to seek pleasure from pain, to submit to another's will, for an hour, or for life? Why were some people doms and others subs, and still others flexible enough to be both? 

To find out, I asked Julia to help me create and act out a scene. We spent hours talking, discussing my sexual likes and dislikes in more depth than I ever had with any of my lovers. From that, she created the most erotic experience of my life. More than being a fantastic sexual moment, it was completely and totally freeing. For the hours I turned myself over to her, all my cares, all my worries seemed like dandelion fluff in the wind. Wanting more, I spent the summer as her part-time slave, living at the Hotel along with her, Patrick, Keith, and a female slave, Carrie. When school started again, I had my paper written, and a new sense of control over my life, something I'd felt slipping when I'd failed to find a sentinel. I'd left then, graduating at the end of the fall semester. I took almost a year off to travel, then I'd gone back to Rainier to work on my doctorate. 

Nearly half my life was spent with the goal of being a Doctor of Anthropology. The loss of that dream still hurts, though I wouldn't change what I did. I just wish I'd had a little more time to figure out another way, so that Jim and I could have both benefited. A part of me rejects that idea. I made a mistake that nearly tore my friend's life apart, nearly got Simon and Megan killed. The loss of my career will never be enough to compensate for the damage I did. I feel like coming here to the Hotel is my only hope of making things right in my own mind. For causing others to suffer, I should suffer in return. 

I hear footsteps in the hall, then the sound of the front door opening and closing. Julia's client leaving. I expect her to enter the room any moment, and my body sings at the thought. I am wrong. The footsteps retreat. 

Time passes. My back is in knots, and my knees are aching. But I don't dare move from my position. More time goes by, and then I sense a difference in the room. My back is to the door, and I hear no footsteps, yet something's changed. 

The scent of perfume reaches me, along with the soft rustle of cloth. From the corner of my eye, I can see bare feet, the toenails painted a soft peach. She circles me, then sits in the white chair. For a long time she is silent, and I can barely stand the tension in the room. What if she refuses me? What will I do if she turns me away? I've pinned all my hopes on her. 

"At ease, Blair," she says softly. 

Slowly I straighten, sitting back on my heels, my hands still behind my back, my eyes on the floor. I feel her gentle touch under my chin, lifting my head so I'm forced to look at her. She's leaning forward in her seat, her hazel eyes regarding me intently, her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. To my eyes, she hasn't changed at all, despite the five years since I last saw her. Her sweet, innocent-looking face masks a core of steel. She's wrapped in a white terry-cloth robe, and I realize she kept me waiting while she showered. 

"Why are you here, Blair?" 

"I'm here to ser--" 

Before I can finish, she puts a finger to my lips. "I know. Patrick told me. And that's fine. He's the only one living here at the moment, so there's plenty of room. You should also know there've been some changes here before you make that commitment." She leans back in the chair, crossing her bare legs. "I see very few paying clients these days, not like before when that was my only means of support. I've gone digital now. The house is almost completely wired. We're live on the Internet, pay-per-view. Subscribers can watch me interact with my slaves, and I stage live webcasts of bondage parties. I'm now a dot.com dominatrix." 

I smile at her description. 

She smiles back. "What I'm saying is, if you've come here looking for privacy, you'll find it, as long as you don't mind sharing it with millions of web subscribers. So I ask again, why are you here? I just want to know what you expect to get out of it. Does it have something to do with that publisher and your dissertation?" Her voice lowers. "I saw your press conference, Blair. I cried." 

That stuns me. I didn't expect such empathy from her, not after all these years. I finally say, "It has something to do with that, yes. But that was just the culmination of a lot of bad decisions." I drop my gaze to the thick carpet. "I hurt a lot of people. I hurt my friends. I need to offer penance for the pain I've caused people I care about." 

"Penance I can provide. And you know I'm going to get the truth out of you." 

"I know." Lying to her would defeat the purpose of being here. 

"So you're okay with the cameras?" 

I nod. In fact, it's only fitting that my punishment should recorded by the media, of a sort. "I'm here to serve, Mistress Julia." 

She tilts my head back again. "All right. Pick a safe word." 

"Peanut butter." 

She laughs. "Well, I guess that's something you normally wouldn't be calling out in the heat of passion. I expect you to use it." A subtle change comes over her as she slips into her role. "For someone who claims he's ready to serve me, you show up like this?" Her grip tightens on my chin, and she turns my face from side to side, looking at my three days growth of beard. "You couldn't stop to properly prepare?" She makes a show of sniffing the air. "Or bathe?" She tugs at my chest hair, then pulls my nipple so hard I gasp. "You know this all has to go." 

"Yes, Mistress." 

She pushes my hair back behind my ear. "This too. You look beautiful with it this long, but it's too easy for you to hide behind it." 

"Yes, Mistress," I repeat without hesitation, realizing she's right. I've hidden behind the long hair, and the neo-hippie image for too long. Maybe that was why I protested when Jim wanted me to become a cop and cut my hair; I knew it would just be another lie. Cutting it now is a step toward the truth. 

Her hand glides down my stomach. "Nice. You finally discovered the benefits of going to the gym." Her fingers comb through my wild pubic hair as she sighs, shaking her head. "My slaves are supposed to be shorn, Blair. You know that. You will be punished." She continues her examination, cupping my balls in her hand, squeezing until I moan in pain. Running a finger up my rock-hard erection, she pinches the tip until tears sting my eyes. "You always had a gorgeous, tender cock. I'm going to enjoy punishing it." Finally she releases me, reaching into the pocket of her robe and withdrawing a leash. She clips it to my collar, then gets to her feet, giving the lead a tug. 

Crawling on my hands and knees, I follow her out of the room. 

* * *

Mistress Julia leads me through the house and back to her bedroom. Like the rest of the rooms I've seen, it's decorated in black and white. The huge, four-poster bed dominates the room, its black posts reaching almost to the ceiling. They contrast sharply with the lacy white cover and pillows on the bed. 

She closes the door, then turns to me. "The cameras are usually left off in the private bedrooms." 

From my position on the floor, I nod I understand. 

"Tonight only, I'm giving you a choice." She pulls what looks like a VCR remote from her pocket. "I will leave the web feed off, but I can record our session. Or I can leave the cameras off altogether. Your choice." 

I think about it for a moment. My purpose here is penance. What greater humiliation than to have a record of the ritual punishment she is about to put me through? "Record it, please, Mistress." 

Nodding, she points the remote toward a glass cabinet, and a red light comes on, on what looks like a digital recorder. She sets the remote down and tugs at my leash. "On your feet, slave." 

I follow her into the large, white-tiled bathroom. Opening the door to the black marble shower, which looks big enough to hold five people, she ushers me inside, clipping my leash to an eyelet in the wall. Turning on the tap, she adjusts the water until she approves of the temperature, then pushes me under nozzle. "Wet your hair," she orders, then leaves. 

I do as I'm told, leaning back under the stream. The water is hot, almost scalding, but it feels good on my aching back. I'm not used to being on my hands and knees for so long, and it will be awhile before my muscles get accustomed to it. 

When Julia returns, she's nude, her hands full of various toiletries. She places them in one of the niches set in the walls of the shower. When she turns back to me, she catches me looking at her directly, in an obvious state of arousal. Her hand darts out and grabs my balls, yanking on them hard. I yelp, and instantly deflate. "Eyes down, slave! You know better!" 

I drop my gaze instantly, intently studying the drain set in the floor. 

"Kneel," she commands, and I obey. Pouring shampoo into her hand, she applies it to my hair, lathering vigorously. She massages my scalp so hard it brings tears to my eyes. She pushes my head forward, under the stream of water, and I close my eyes to keep the soap out. 

My hair rinsed to her satisfaction, Julia tilts my head back and applies shaving foam to my beard stubble. Using a disposable razor, she gives me a close, careful shave. A wet washcloth wipes away any leftover foam. She urges me to my feet by tugging on my collar. 

She pours shower gel on a bath brush and begins to scrub me down. The harsh bristles sting, and I feel like she's determined to remove a layer of skin. I don't dare protest, and endure the discomfort until she guides me under the showerhead again to rinse. She squirts more gel into a washcloth, and intently cleans my genitals and the crack of my ass. A gasp escapes me as she presses the rag against my anus. 

Applying more pressure, she says, "Ah, you still like that, Blair? You always were one for lots of ass play. Well, you'll get plenty of that from me." Washing done, she turns off the tap then reaches up to shorten my chain, so that I'm now against the wall of the shower, facing her. 

Julia takes up the can of shaving cream again and sprays some into her hand. She smears it on the upper right side of my chest, selects a new razor, and begins to shave. She works carefully around my nipple, pausing once to pinch it sharply, smiling as I jump, then returning to her task. It's slow work. While not an overly hairy guy, my chest hair is wiry and quickly dulls the blade as she scrapes it across my skin. She'll have to change razors several times before she's through. 

I lean back against the cold marble for support, my breathing rapid. I knew this was coming, knew it was part of the rules, but still it's humiliating. She doesn't speak to me, which further objectifies me, forces me deeper into the slave mentality. I understand perfectly what she's doing, and I want to embrace it. But submitting completely is difficult for me. I have trouble with something as simple as remembering to keep my eyes downcast. That's why Mistress Julia is so good at what she does. She knows in what measure to praise and to punish to help me achieve submission. Through that submission, I hope to find relief from the guilt that nearly cripples me. 

Finally, my chest and belly are shaved, and I'm hairless from neck to navel. Picking up a hand-held shower attachment, she turns it on, spraying the remnants of foam and hair from me. Once again, she squirts foam into her hand, and applies it in a thick layer over my pubic mound and balls. A whimper slips past my lips. Kneeling on the tile, razor in hand, she glances up at me. "Are you going to be able to hold still, or am I going to have to restrain you further?" 

"I can hold still, Mistress." I press back further against the wall, closing my eyes, trying not to twitch at each pass of the blade. Mistress Julia works carefully, her hand holding my now very soft cock, lifting it out of the way as she shaves. The triangle of thick hair between my legs finally removed, she takes gentle hold of my balls, pulling them taut as she runs the razor over them. I let out the breath I'm holding as she finishes and sprays me off. 

"Turn around," she commands, and I do, feeling her apply a dab of foam to my perineum, and the crack of my ass. A few quick swipes of the blade there, a rinse, and I'm done. Getting to her feet, Julia unhooks my leash from the wall and leads me out of the shower. 

She leaves me standing on the thick bathmat as she puts on her robe, then gets a towel from the linen closet. She dries me off thoroughly, then picks up a bottle of lotion from the vanity. She squeezes a little into her palm, and rubs it over the areas she shaved, my face and neck, chest, stomach and groin. The lotion is cool and soothing, and her fingers massaging it into my pubic area bring my cock back to life. She smiles at me, drips more cream on her fingers, and works it gently into my balls. I can't help it, I moan. 

"You like that, pet? You like me touching you, don't you?" 

"Yes, Mistress," I manage to croak as her lotion coated fingers wrap around my erection and move slowly up and down, her palm sliding over the tip with each stroke. My heart's pounding and my cock aching when she lets go and pulls on my leash. 

"Sit down." She points to the stool in front of the mirrored vanity table. I take a seat, and she wraps a large sheet around my neck, draping it so I'm completely covered. Opening a drawer in the table, she takes out a comb, and a pair of scissors. I inhale slowly, then bite my lip. She combs out the tangles, sections my hair, and starts to cut. Long hanks of chestnut curls begin to drop onto the sheet. I close my eyes. 

She smacks my cheek sharply with the comb. "No. Eyes open, slave. This is part of your punishment." 

Lifting my head, she positions it so that I'm staring at my reflection in the mirror. A red patch from the comb marks my cheek. I watch, feeling as though I'm losing a part of myself as each snippet of hair falls. The Blair in the mirror is crying. 

Julia notices, and lays down the shears. She moves in front of me, taking my face in her hands, wiping away my tears. "Shh, shh, precious. It's all part of the process, you know that. The walls have to come down in order for this to work, for you to find what you need." 

"I know, Mistress," I whisper. "I'm okay. It's just so hard..." 

She hugs me tightly for a long moment, comforting me. My face presses against her stomach, the soft darkness a welcome refuge. Finally she lifts my head, kisses my lips tenderly, then goes back to cutting. A few minutes later, she's finished. The style is similar to the one I wore when I lived here before, the back and sides short, but she leaves the curls on top longer than I used to wear them. She runs her fingers through them, tugging gently. 

"That's good." She unwraps the sheet from around me, scattering hair over the tiles. I know it will be my job to clean it up later. Picking up my leash, she leads me over to the sink. "There's one more thing, and then you'll be prepared to my satisfaction. Kneel." I do so. Julia opens a cabinet under the sink and takes out a familiar rubber bag with a length of tubing attached. 

"Mistress, please..." I squeak. "Not that, please..." 

She looks down at me, her expression stern. "My slaves are expected to be clean, inside and out, you know that. I know you hate enemas. And you know that's exactly why you get them." 

Chastised, I stare at the carpet, listening to her run the water until it's the correct temperature, reminding myself that it wouldn't be punishment if there were no pain. And I know she will try to make this particular event as painless as possible for me, but my stomach is already tensing in anticipation. When everything's ready, she leads me to the toilet. She sits down on the closed lid. The enema bag is hanging from a hook on the wall, an open tube of KY sits close by on the counter, and she's donned latex gloves. 

"Come on, precious," she coaxes, tugging gently on my leash. "Lie over my knees." I rest my chest on her legs, and she puts the end of the leash under her foot, preventing me from rising. She strokes my back and ass soothingly, then spreads my cheeks with her left hand. She rubs a generous amount of lube on my anus, her fingertip pressing firmly until my body admits her. 

I moan low in my throat, aroused in spite of myself. 

"That's a good boy," she praises, wiggling her finger slowly, coating my insides. She removes her digit, and it's replaced with the tip of the enema hose. Her left hand slides down my ass to hold it in place as she opens the hose clamp slightly. Wet warmth trickles inside me. "Tell me if you feel any pain," she says. 

I nod, unable to speak. Her hand reaches underneath me and she rubs my stomach, helping the soapy water do its work. After a few minutes, she opens the clamp a little more, and the flow increases. My insides start to knot, and I cry out. "Cramp! Oh, god, cramp!" 

"Easy, easy." Julia closes the clamp and massages my tight belly. "Breathe, Blair." 

"Hurts..." I moan, though the pain is fading under her skillful touch. After a few minutes, I finally nod, signaling it's okay to continue. 

She opens the clamp again, but not so wide. It takes nearly half an hour to empty the bag into me, as we stop several more times for cramping. When the solution is finally all inside me, I remain still, as she strokes my ass and stomach. "You've been a very good slave, Blair. Once this is done, this part of your preparation will be over. It'll just be a little longer, and then you can go to bed. I know you must be exhausted." 

I nod in agreement. A few minutes more, and then I take her place on the toilet. Expelling the water is always painful for me, my insides knotting and twisting as they force the solution out. I'm whimpering as Julia bends over me, one arm around my shoulders, pulling me against her hip, the other again kneading and massaging my stomach. I turn my head so my face is pressed against her robe, sobbing as the spasm moves through me. 

"Almost over, precious, almost done." She's stroking my hair now, her touch calming. I begin to breathe easier, the clean scent of her cotton robe soothing me. Finally it's over, and she cleans me up, then leads me into the bedroom. 

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Julia says, "Now it's time for your punishment for showing up unclean and unshaven." She pats the mattress. "This part hasn't changed any. Over my leg." 

The butterflies are back in my stomach, and I feel arousal burning in my groin. This part is my guilty pleasure. Hard to believe a kid who'd never been spanked in his life before he was 22 years old would have such a passion for it, but I do. I crawl toward her. 

She's sitting somewhat sideways on the bed, and I lean over her thigh, my torso resting on the mattress. She hooks her other leg over both of mine, pinning me in place as I put my hands behind my back in the proper position. 

Julia strokes my ass at first, lightly pinching and kneading. Then I feel the mattress shift as she draws her hand back, then slaps me on the right cheek. The blow stings, and I gasp out "One..." 

"Very good," she praises. "If you forget, or miscount, I start over from the beginning." She spanks my left cheek and then my right again as I call out the numbers. After ten blows, my ass is starting to burn. She rests for a moment, rubbing my cheeks, spreading the heat around. 

I moan, the sound coming from deep inside my chest. 

"Feels good, doesn't it, pet?" 

"Ohhh, god, yes, Mistress. It's been so long..." I'm in a red haze, all my attention focused on the incredible sensations in my ass and my cock. 

She hits me again, using more force this time, each stroke bringing more pain than the previous one. I manage to remember to count before it's too late. "E...eleven...." I count twenty more spanks before she pauses again. Blinking back tears, I try to catch my breath in the few seconds between sets of slaps. 

When Julia resumes, she focuses her blows on the sensitive underside of my ass, the area where it joins my thighs, once again increasing the power behind them. I force the count out between sobs. The tears are running down my cheeks now, soaking into the white comforter. "Please, Mistress, please stop!" 

"Last ten, pet, last ten. You can survive that long." She strikes me ten more times. As the pain from the final one shoots though me, she rubs my aching cheeks again, massaging my hot flesh. "You've colored beautifully, Blair. A nice, deep red, almost magenta." 

I whimper, tears still falling heavily. 

"You've learned your lesson, I trust? You won't be showing up on my doorstep again unprepared, will you?" 

"N...no, Mistress." 

"Good." She pushes my thighs apart and reaches between them, running her hand over my tight erection. Her fingers brush over the tip, wiping away the pre-cum leaking from it. She raises her wet fingers to my lips, and I obediently lick the liquid from them. "Good boy, you remembered that, too." 

I nod, tasting the sharp tang of the fluid on my tongue. Her hand dives between my legs a second time, and she squeezes a few more drops from the sensitive head. Once again I clean her fingers, sucking them into my mouth and laving my tongue over them. 

"You're making me very hot, precious, and I would love to take you right now, but you know you're going to have to do more than lick my fingers to earn the privilege of coming. My leg's going to sleep, so off now, and all the way onto the bed." 

I do as she says, my knees wobbling as I stand up. Good thing I don't have to walk; I'd probably fall on my face. I lie down on my belly on the mattress, both my cock and my ass throbbing, hearing her rummaging in the nightstand drawer. 

"All right," she finally says, "over my legs, face down." I move into position, my ass centered in her lap. She strokes me, and I feel the sleek texture of latex on her hand. She's got gloves on again. A cool drop of lube is massaged into my anus, and this time she goes slower than she did when she was preparing me for the enema. More lube is added, and I groan as the tip of her finger penetrates me with agonizing slowness. "That feel good, pet?" 

I groan again. "Yes, Mistress. Feels full...tight." 

"I noticed that earlier. You're very tight. When was the last time you were fucked?" 

The word sounds strange coming from her. She rarely ever swears, at least with me. I know some subs like it. 

"Answer me, slave. When was the last time your ass was fucked?" Her words are a little sharper, and she pushes her finger in a bit further to get my attention. 

"Before...before I left here, Mistress," I groan. Her finger's deep inside now, stroking, rubbing, circling--I scream, my whole body spasming. 

"There's that little hot spot I seem to remember drives you wild." 

She presses against my prostate again, and this time my scream is more of a squeak as I struggle to breathe. Her finger withdraws. "Nooo, no, Mistress!" I protest. I hear the smile in her voice as she replies. 

"My, you're a greedy little slut, aren't you?" 

"Yes, Mistress," I agree eagerly, gripping the bed cover as she works two fingers into my resistant opening. More lube is added, along with more pressure, and finally they both slip inside. Julia works my sphincter muscle thoroughly, flexing and spreading her fingers, her thumb rubbing the circular ridge of flesh on the outside. 

Oh god. I've forgotten how good this feels. Five years is way too long to go without this. For the life of me, I can't remember why I did. I whine as she removes her fingers again. 

She slaps my ass. "Are you questioning me?" 

I shake my head. "No Mistress, I just want more." 

"I'd be careful what I wish for, slave," Julia warns me. 

A few seconds later, I feel her pushing something against my anus. It's smooth, and slick, and solid. And it's not a finger. Involuntarily, I tense up. I expect another smack for my body's refusal to cooperate, but instead my Mistress continues to press the object into me slowly, the forefinger of her other hand massaging around the tight opening as she tells me to breathe. I inhale slowly, and exhale the same way, feeling the item sink deeper inside me. Again my whole body tightens. 

Changing tactics, Julia strokes my legs, tickling her fingers across the sensitive crease between my ass and thigh. I moan, and the thing enters further. 

"Almost all in. Breathe again for me." 

I do so, consciously trying to relax as I exhale. It works. It slides in all the way, and I feel my ass close around the narrow part of it. I realize it's an anal plug. Julia rocks it, twisting slightly, making sure it's securely seated. 

"There, pet. All done. I know it probably feels huge--" 

I nod. 

"--but it's the smallest plug I have, not even as thick as my two fingers. Are you feeling any pain?" 

I swallow past the dryness in my throat. "No, no pain. Just tight." 

She rubs my ass lightly. "That'll pass in a couple hours." 

"Hours?" I squeak. She pinches my buttock. "I mean, hours, Mistress?" 

She bends down and kisses my shoulder. "Hours, slave," she says tenderly, her use of my position a reminder that she is in control of my body, not me. "You'll sleep with it in. And speaking of sleep, it's time for you to get some rest. On the floor with you." 

I climb off the bed and kneel on all fours. She gets off as well, picking up my leash and leading me to the foot of the four-poster. A large dog bed sits on the floor, a folded blanket atop it. I feel tears burning behind my lashes. When I was here before, I had a room with a real bed. I realize just how low I am on the totem pole now. Biting my lip, I crawl into the bed. She fastens my leash to a ring set in the footboard of the bed, leaving enough length so that I can turn from side to side, but not enough to completely roll over and possibly choke myself. 

Covering me with the blanket, Julia brushes my hair off my forehead, and plants a soft kiss there. "Go to sleep, pet." Getting to her feet, she walks over to the digital recorder and shuts it off. Turning off the light, she enters the bathroom and shuts the door. I am alone in the dark. 

A shuddering breath escapes my lips, and the tears begin to fall again. What have I gotten myself into? My insides are still clenching from the enema, my buttocks have a dull, deep ache I know won't fade for hours, and the plug in my ass is sending sparks to my cock every time I move, keeping it from completely deflating. The idea of relieving myself quickly enters my mind, and just as rapidly leaves. Touching myself without permission is strictly forbidden. I don't even want to imagine what Mistress Julia would do to me if she caught me. 

I roll onto my side, trying to think about anything but my physical discomfort. My mind wanders to Jim. I hope he's doing okay. He is, I reassure myself. Megan's there to help him, not that he's zoned in ages. My thoughts turn darker. What would he think if he could see me now? Would he be disgusted? Would he think I am sick, perverted, twisted? Probably. More tears fall. 

A hand touches my shoulder lightly. "Hey, hey, precious, what's wrong? What's the matter?" Julia's kneeling next to me, and I can see the concern in her eyes even in the dark. "Are you in pain? Where does it hurt? Are you cramping?" 

I hiccup and stammer, "Ye- yes..." I'm shivering now, frightened that she'll be angry. 

She peels the blanket down, and rolls me onto my back. Her fingers probe my belly gently, then she says, "I think your stomach muscles are just tight from before. I'll be right back." She walks into the bathroom, flipping on the light. 

I can hear water running. In a few minutes, she returns. 

"Sit up for a minute, Blair." 

I do, and she sits down where my head was, leaning her back against the foot of the bed. 

"Okay, lie down on your side with your head in my lap." 

I do as she asks, and she holds a towel-wrapped object against my stomach. Warmth emanates from it, and I realize it's the enema bag, now being used as a hot water bottle. I curl around it as she pulls the blanket over me again. 

"That better, precious?" 

I nod my head against her thigh. 

She's silent for a moment, and when she speaks, the command note is gone from her voice. "I'm sorry, Blair. I pushed you too hard tonight. I should have waited until tomorrow, let you rest, before I put you through what I did." 

Her fingers wander through my now short curls, the tender gesture moving me to tears again. I'm all raw on the inside, emotions tumbling over each other, sadness, fear, anger, hate, loathing, disgust. They fade away as my resolve replaces them. "No. If you'd waited until tomorrow, I would have changed my mind. I need this, all of it. I need the bad with the good." 

Bending, she kisses my temple. "Tomorrow will be good. We'll talk. I want to know exactly what brought you to my door again. Once I know that, I'll know how to give you what you need. Now close your eyes, pet, and sleep. I'll be right here." 

Feeling calmer than I have in weeks, I finally succumb to my exhaustion. 

* * *


End file.
